


you in my sweatshirt and me in yours

by dames_for_jamesbarnes



Series: you and me, we're a team [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Food, Surgeon Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dames_for_jamesbarnes/pseuds/dames_for_jamesbarnes
Summary: “Take a break.” Her voice is next to your ear, which makes you shiver again. “Don’t tell me this doesn’t feel like you should put those books down.”You chuckle. Reach to drop your pen, and spin in your chair so that you can look at her. She stands tall over you, and you let your eyes scan her from top to bottom and back up again. “And lie to a profiler? I’m not a moron. But. I am someone who has an exam tomorrow that I really need to pass, and it’s only 7:00 PM.”“Then I’m lucky my girlfriend is a genius.”
Relationships: Emily Prentiss/Reader
Series: you and me, we're a team [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017174
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	you in my sweatshirt and me in yours

**Author's Note:**

> originally this prompt over on @qvid-pro-qvo on tumblr.
> 
> can i request an emily prentiss x female!reader with the prompts “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”, “I was just thinking about you.”, and “Stay over.” in no particular order?

“You know, **I was just thinking about you** ,” Emily teases, and you smile. You know what she’s doing. It’s what she always does, when she wants to distract you from your work.

“Is that so,” you state, deadpan, and she hums. You feel her hands come around your neck, feel her fingers start massaging into your neck. At one point, her fingers dig right into the junction of your shoulder, and you can’t help the shiver that leaves you. “Emily…”

“Take a break.” Her voice is next to your ear, which makes you shiver again. “Don’t tell me this doesn’t feel like you should put those books down.”

You chuckle. Reach to drop your pen, and spin in your chair so that you can look at her. She stands tall over you, and you let your eyes scan her from top to bottom and back up again. “And lie to a profiler? I’m not a moron. But. I am someone who has an exam tomorrow that I really need to pass, and it’s only 7:00 PM.”

“Then I’m lucky my girlfriend is a genius.” Her hip is cocked, and she looks stunning. You love her when she’s like this. You love her all the time, but these moments, these are when you remember how much. Because her bangs hang free from her ponytail, and her lips are pouted a little and bitten just that much more. She’s a sweatshirt from your alma mater, and shorts that you had stolen from her and she took back, and when she leans forward, and traps you in your seat, hands encircling your wrists, your breath catches. “Take a break. **Stay over**. I’ll drive you to the facility tomorrow morning.”

You don’t try to hide the suspicion on your features, raising a brow at the certainty. “At 7:00 AM? Don’t you have work or something?”

“I’ll be up. And I’ll take you.”

You love her.

“I’m not a genius. You should know, you work with one of them,” you retort, and she just laughs. It’s bright, and you’re enraptured by her. And at this point, you know that work is a distant memory, that really, you either know cardiothoracic surgery or you don’t, and maybe it’s the way her fingers release your wrists to trail along your arms, but you’re pretty certain you know Emily Prentiss, too. You know that she’s aware that you’ve given up on any last-minute cramming, you know that she’s got pizza already on the way, and you know that the rest of the night is going to involve hands in your hair and fingers on your pressure points.

You love her.

“The fact that I know a genius makes me pretty qualified to spot another, don’t you think?” She leans forward, kisses you. It’s gentle, and then she reaches for your hands, pulls you to standing. “Come on, smartie. I know for a fact you haven’t eaten either, and there’s a pepperoni pie with your name on it.”

“Because you used my card,” you say, once again deadpan, and she just smiles at you, winking.

“Because I used your card. I’ll pay you back.”

It makes you chuckle, and you do in fact stand, letting her lead you to the couch in her front room, and then past it to her bed. The curtains are open, and you can see the pitter-patter of rain on the glass.

“So what’s the plan?” you ask her. “Seems like you’ve taken control.” Not that you mind. Not at all.

“Pizza. Movie. Bed early,” she tells you. Plainly. And by the time you get into the bed, and the doorbell rings. She grabs the pizza, you snag the blankets, and before long your head is pillowed on the logo of your alma mater, and your fingers are tangled with hers when they’re not reaching for pizza. 

-

Emily gets the call at 3:00 PM the following day. A Saturday where she doesn’t have to go into the office, a Saturday she blocked out.

But you don’t know that. You don’t know that at all. In fact, Emily dressed for work that morning, a part of the ploy to solidify her stance in your mind.

She supposes it’s not really a ploy, considering that she knows that you wouldn’t have stayed over if you didn’t trust her, if you didn’t know her, if you didn’t love her, but Emily Prentiss is nothing if not thorough. She wants to guarantee every angle, and she wants to know that you know that you’re the most important thing in her life. She wants you to know that waking up at before 7:00 AM to drive her girlfriend to her boards is a privilege, and a pleasure, and she’ll do it any day of the week.

And so it starts with that call. A call at 3:00 PM on a Saturday. You sound more than a little exhausted, when she picks up.

“Prentiss.”

You called her work phone. Adorable.

“Hey, Em. I – uh. I’m done.”

“You’re done?” she asks, and she makes her voice silky smooth. “Well, congratulations. How do you feel?”

“Like I could eat another pizza by myself. And like I couldn’t read the numbers on your card to even take it to order it.”

“Well, **stay there. I’m coming to get you**.”

There’s a pause. She can feel you squirming over the phone, the need to get home battling with the knowledge that your girlfriend could be at work. “Are you sure? I can get a cab or something. I don’t want you to drop the ball with your boss.”

Right. Emily’s boss. The BAU. The complicated dance between telling them and deciding not to.

Emily’s boss. Aaron Hotchner. Who when he found out that Emily was taking a Saturday off, basically gave her the Aaron Hotchner form of “thank God.” (He didn’t know why. He didn’t need to. But she was taking time off, and… that’s what mattered.)

Anyway. That’s part of the reason that Emily feels like she has to really show up. Show out. But, anyways. 

“Em. Emily. Really, I can call a cab, I can walk… someplace. One of the other residents is in there right now, I can wait –”

“Don’t worry about that,” Emily reassures you. “Trust me.”

You stop talking. You’re thinking, loudly, because that’s the way your brain works when you’re tired. You’re surely now starting to fiddle with your hair, a finger curling in one strand, and you’ve probably, by now, started rocking on your toes. A habit from grade school, you told her once, when you were still one of the shortest girls in the class and needed to peek over the shoulders of others.

And now you stand on the shoulders of some many before you, and you stand tall. You’re a brilliant woman, you were a brilliant resident, an incredible girlfriend, and you’re soon to be an incredible board-certified thoracic surgeon.

And you trust Emily Prentiss, and that – that’s a gift she can’t ever let go.

She loves you.

“So… did the FBI sweatshirt give you luck?” she asks, and she can hear you smiling, just like she can hear you thinking.

“It looks good. And I think knowing that I had the full force of the federal government behind me helped me out a lot.”

“Really?”

“Well, they made me take it off before I went in. But I thought about you a lot. And I… thought about how I can’t wait to get back home to you.”

Emily grins. She knows you can hear it, just like you can hear her get in the car, start the thing, and begin the fifteen-minute drive to pick you up.

“And how did you do? After you took the FBI sweatshirt off?”

“I think I aced my fucking boards, and I put the FBI sweatshirt back on so I could celebrate with you before I called.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know. So no work today, huh?”

And that makes Emily pause. Because she did not tell you for a reason, so she could surprise you. With comfortable clothes, and a warm shower, and a hell of a lot of kisses on the way back to the apartment she spent all day filling with your favorite candles.

“What? How did you –”

“I may not be a profiler, Emily, but let me just say a cake that needs to be refrigerated should be picked up the day of for a real surprise.”

Oh.

Right.

The cake.

“That’s why I ordered pizza,” she admits. “So you wouldn’t look in the fridge.”

“I got munchy after the movie. Checked after I went to the bathroom.”

There’s a moment, where Emily feels her heart sink a little. Feels her hand grip the steering wheel. “Right. Well. I’m sorry. I – I thought it’d be a fun surprise.”

But instead of laughing more, instead of teasing, instead of anything else, you just smile, loudly, brilliantly, kindly. “I love you, you know that?”

Yeah. Emily does.

“I love you, too. A lot. And. You deserve better than me.”

“There’s no better than you, Emily. There’s you, and this FBI sweatshirt. And that’s all I need for the rest of my life, I think.”

It’s that simple. It’s that easy. When Emily picks you up, you’re bounce on your toes and hop into her car, and lean over and kiss her long and hard, keeping her held close with a hand on the back of her neck. You tuck her hair behind her ear, sweep her bangs just as much as you need to keep them out of her eyes, and then you kiss her once more.

“How ‘bout some cake before we have something sweeter?” she laughs, and you just nod, reaching for her hand before collapsing back against the passenger seat.

“How about a nap?”

(And four weeks later, when the results come back, and there’s a newly board-certified thoracic surgeon out in the world after her girlfriend aced her fucking boards, well. Well. There’s another celebration. Another cake. And this time, it’s picked up the day of, and you laugh and tease and say ‘I told you so’ with that loud and incredible smile.)


End file.
